Homecoming 20
Willow gasped when she entered the room. She had been too self absorbed after Tara's death to see the toll that loss had put on her friend, and the even greater pain she'd felt at losing Spike. By the time of their final battle she could only perceive Buffy as the enemy. But seeing her now, lying pale and emaciated, the enormity of Buffy's suffering hit her, the suffering that had started the day Willow had cajoled her friends into bringing the Slayer back from the dead.
"Hi, Buffy. I missed you. A lot."
"Willow." Buffy's eyes were cold and unforgiving. "I wish I could say the same."
"I'm sorry."
"You may have convinced Spike that you can be trusted, but don't expect that from me." She looked at the witch, scrutinizing her. "You must have done one hell of a song and dance to convince him. So go ahead. Do your magic."
"Why" she asked. "You don't trust me."
"What have I got to lose? Look at me, Willow. I'm dying anyway."
Willow called the others into the room. She entreated them to circle the young woman as best they could. The witch sat cross legged at Buffy's feet with a bowl of herbs. Xander lit her candle and held it for her, standing on the left of the bed. "You don't have to join hands for this. Just surround her." Spike sat on the edge of the bed near Buffy's head, his hand resting gently on her forehead. Anya and Giles were on the right. They held hands anyway.
"Forces of light, hear my plea. Dispel the darkness overcoming. Purify the tainted one. Restore the balance of light and dark. Cleanse the unclean. Release the black. Restore the white. Purify. Cleanse. Release!" With her final words, Willow levitated from the bed. She took the handful of powder she had been holding and threw it into the bowl. Taking the candle from Xander's hand, she dipped the lit wick into the mixture. With a flash it ignited, billows of grey smoke filling the room, then suddenly dissipating.
The occupants of the room looked down at Buffy. All were appalled by the sight. From each of her pores, a dark substance began oozing, welling up until it engulfed her body. Spike reluctantly lifted his hand. Unseen winds filled the room, whipping around the Slayer, licking at her skin until it was white again. She lay quietly on the bed.
"She's so pale," Spike whispered.
Giles felt for her pulse, then with a panicked expression placed his hand over her heart. "She's gone."
Spike crumbled onto her body, his tears staining the sheets. He kissed her; her marble forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
Xander spun at Willow. "I trusted you!" he shouted. "I believed you! You said you'd changed; you'd learned your lesson." He grabbed her arm and pulled her from the bed. "You liar! You killed her!"
"I tried," she cried. "I did my best. She was so weak. I did everything I could."
Giles stood horrified, his arms around Anya. She sobbed into his chest. "Get out of here, Willow." Giles was as cold as death. "Get out of here before I kill you."
"No." A tiny voice spoke from the pillow. "I'm alive. Thanks, Will. Honey, get off me. I can't breath."
"Buffy?" Spike sat up, pressing his hand onto her now warming cheek. "Thank god."
Willow gasped when she entered the room. She had been too self absorbed after Tara's death to see the toll that loss had put on her friend, and the even greater pain she'd felt at losing Spike. By the time of their final battle she could only perceive Buffy as the enemy. But seeing her now, lying pale and emaciated, the enormity of Buffy's suffering hit her, the suffering that had started the day Willow had cajoled her friends into bringing the Slayer back from the dead.
"Hi, Buffy. I missed you. A lot."
"Willow." Buffy's eyes were cold and unforgiving. "I wish I could say the same."
"I'm sorry."
"You may have convinced Spike that you can be trusted, but don't expect that from me." She looked at the witch, scrutinizing her. "You must have done one hell of a song and dance to convince him. So go ahead. Do your magic."
"Why" she asked. "You don't trust me."
"What have I got to lose? Look at me, Willow. I'm dying anyway."
Willow called the others into the room. She entreated them to circle the young woman as best they could. The witch sat cross legged at Buffy's feet with a bowl of herbs. Xander lit her candle and held it for her, standing on the left of the bed. "You don't have to join hands for this. Just surround her." Spike sat on the edge of the bed near Buffy's head, his hand resting gently on her forehead. Anya and Giles were on the right. They held hands anyway.
"Forces of light, hear my plea. Dispel the darkness overcoming. Purify the tainted one. Restore the balance of light and dark. Cleanse the unclean. Release the black. Restore the white. Purify. Cleanse. Release!" With her final words, Willow levitated from the bed. She took the handful of powder she had been holding and threw it into the bowl. Taking the candle from Xander's hand, she dipped the lit wick into the mixture. With a flash it ignited, billows of grey smoke filling the room, then suddenly dissipating.
The occupants of the room looked down at Buffy. All were appalled by the sight. From each of her pores, a dark substance began oozing, welling up until it engulfed her body. Spike reluctantly lifted his hand. Unseen winds filled the room, whipping around the Slayer, licking at her skin until it was white again. She lay quietly on the bed.
"She's so pale," Spike whispered.
Giles felt for her pulse, then with a panicked expression placed his hand over her heart. "She's gone."
Spike crumbled onto her body, his tears staining the sheets. He kissed her; her marble forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
Xander spun at Willow. "I trusted you!" he shouted. "I believed you! You said you'd changed; you'd learned your lesson." He grabbed her arm and pulled her from the bed. "You liar! You killed her!"
"I tried," she cried. "I did my best. She was so weak. I did everything I could."
Giles stood horrified, his arms around Anya. She sobbed into his chest. "Get out of here, Willow." Giles was as cold as death. "Get out of here before I kill you."
"No." A tiny voice spoke from the pillow. "I'm alive. Thanks, Will. Honey, get off me. I can't breath."
"Buffy?" Spike sat up, pressing his hand onto her now warming cheek. "Thank god."